


where does it hurt?

by sevenzeroseven



Category: Thunderbolt Fantasy 東離劍遊紀 (TV)
Genre: Character Study, Gen, Introspection, Light Angst, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-21
Updated: 2018-11-21
Packaged: 2019-08-26 09:13:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,280
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16678789
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sevenzeroseven/pseuds/sevenzeroseven
Summary: it answeredeverywhereeverywhereeverywhere.[shang leaves lang in xi you.]





	where does it hurt?

It was raining when he left.

There hadn't been any signs of rain during the day. The skies had been calm and clear, a startling blue that Shang had commented on. Maybe a herald of safe travels (for once). Lang had only snorted, and in his skepticism, Shang had cracked a smile. Ling Ya, however, blathered on about when did they ever have safe travels? As long as Shang had that Index, they were always going to be chased by lunatics and fanatics screaming for their heads. He wasn't wrong, so Shang hadn't said anything. No snarky rebuttal. Lang had strummed a discordant note then and asked where they‘d sleep for the night.

The conversation moved on. 

It wasn't a sudden decision; he'd been building up to it as he always was with new (temporary) relationships. But somewhere along the line, he and Lang had gone beyond _temporary_. Lang held his own as well as, if not better, than he did.

And for the first time, Shang had found an equal. A partner. 

In that realization, he must have found some happiness too. Otherwise he wouldn’t have let this drag on for so long. Otherwise, the thought of leaving wouldn’t  _hurt_. 

But their final conquest—his 36th sword and the last Shen Hui Mo Xie weapon they were aware of in Xi You—had proven to him that _alone_ really was better after all. (There was a certain kind of panic that simply wasn't possible alone—red blood on red fabric, a slow and stuttering heartbeat that wasn’t his.)

He'd already left countless friends behind, stealing away in day or night and never looking back. As long as he was still alive, still collecting, still running, there was no looking back. Looking back only slowed you down; it didn't make any sense.  _Just run_.

When he was younger and less sure of where he was running to, he'd made a few mistakes. Not looking back, per se, but stumbling. Sometimes on purpose, sometimes not so much. These were the scars that littered his body like a mosaic, like a man stitched together rather than born whole.

The personal afflictions, however, had never bothered him.

Someone had once called him _presumptuous_ for what he was doing. Maybe he was. Maybe it was all penance for defying the natural order. Internal wounds for the lives he cut down and external ones for the beliefs he held. 

He didn’t give a damn.  
After all, he didn’t have anything to lose.  
Furthermore, he didn’t _want_ anything he _could_ lose.

Lang didn’t need to accompany him, and asking any more—letting the man give any more—beyond what had already been asked and given was dangerous. For himself, relying too much on others. For Lang, exposing himself to unnecessary risks. 

As long as he had the Index, he would always be chased. So, he had to get rid of it. If that couldn't happen in Xi You, he’d look in the next country. And if that couldn’t happen there, the next one. He’d keep going until he found a way. But that required crossing the Wastelands, and though Shang had no intention of dying, he also had no intention of letting someone else suffer through it with him. Not if they didn’t have to. Not if he could protect them from it. 

Lang, on the other hand, wouldn’t see it the same. They were equals, but they didn’t live equally. There was something to be gained from Lang’s hotheaded pragmatism; Shang didn’t deny that, but he also couldn’t understand it, not really. He liked to think he’d opened Lang’s eyes to other avenues, but he may have just further entrenched him in his ways instead. It was too late at this point to debate what else he could or couldn’t have done. For himself, Lang would live well—if not peacefully—without Shang’s interference, and that was all Shang could ask for. 

That night, they ate heartier than normal. A festival in the settlement had seen the streets strung up in colorful papers and lanterns, and that also meant food was in abundance. They’d ordered their fill, and Shang had partaken of more alcohol than he was wont to. (And only stopped upon Lang’s casual observation laced with something between concern and curiosity.)

”Seems we’ve shaken off our pursuers,” Lang had murmured midway through dinner. “Where should we go next?”

The _we_ came so naturally now. Thinking otherwise felt like betrayal, and _that_ in itself was dangerous.

A younger him might have stumbled, might have coughed, but this version of him only waved away the concern and said, “That can wait til morning.”

(There wouldn’t be a _we_ by then.)

He was shit at goodbyes, and he’d yet to re-encounter someone he’d left to be called out on it. Maybe it wasn’t nice to leave without one, but partings weren’t designed to be nice, and he’d gotten tired of making them early on. They always felt too final. 

He could usually predict and make peace with the reactions he’d get, but Lang was a complete unknown. He’d just have to gamble on the younger’s ability to forgive and forget, and therein lay his hesitation (his anxiety) that bubbled to the surface in lingering stares, soft touches, a never empty cup. 

Lang was the one to suggest retiring first, placid gaze fixed on him intensely. The other had always insisted on sharing a room (“to save costs”) despite sleeping like a cat. His sensitive hearing damned him to short nights that were even shorter when Shang snored. Still, whenever they stayed at an inn, Lang asked for one room. 

This time, Shang asked for two. He wanted to be alone. 

Lang frowned. “Why?”

Ling Ya interjected, “Oi, oi. Do you have to ask? You’re a man too; shouldn’t you understand better than me?”

Lang’s frown deepened (and there were some unknown emotions mixed in there too that Shang was too buzzed to decipher).

”Hm,” he scoffed after a pause, eyes glancing to the side. “Fine.”

”Oi, Shang, don’t strain yourself!” Ling Ya laughed.

Shang hadn’t appreciated the insinuation, but he’d gone along with it for convenience's sake. (It was easier than answering why and lying through his teeth; a lie by omission seemed kinder.)

So, that had been their goodbye. "Fine," and a misunderstanding. It could have been worse; he preferred it this way. 

Shang sobered up quickly in his room and didn’t bother changing. He simply waited as the seconds dragged into minutes and hours and his chest tightened in anticipation. He waited til every light in the distance had dimmed and the only sounds to accompany his departure were the screaming cicadas. Leaving too late meant Lang would catch up to him; leaving too early hazarded waking him—even rooms apart. Lang's sixth sense was preternatural. Even after Shang had passed through the hallway, down the stairs, and out the entrance, he half-expected Lang to come bursting out after him. (Or had that just been his hope?)

Turning to the east, he spotted dark and ominous clouds on the horizon and noticed the air had gone so still he could hear his own blood rushing past his ears, the staccato rhythm of an unsettled heartbeat. Shang sighed and paused beneath the awning to take a deep breath, to steady himself for the journey to come.

(To quell the inexplicable, irrational part of him that suddenly wanted to look back.)

He supposed this was regret.

It'd never tasted so bittersweet before. 

"See ya," he said to no one in particular in a whisper lost to the rising wind as he headed into the approaching storm. 

**Author's Note:**

> title/summary poem excerpt courtesy of warsan shire's _what they did yesterday afternoon_ i just have a lot of emotions after s2ep8 (੭ु ‾᷄ᗣ‾᷅ )੭ु⁾⁾ nonchalant, blasé, & unaffected shang showing some attachments and regrets pls ૧(ꂹີ࿄ꂹີૂ) idk how well this turned out i kinda lost steam three-quarters of the way through but heh ( ´ ▽ ` ) I Tried i love these kids


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